


and then

by hualun



Series: This Flawed Little Universe of Ours [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hualun/pseuds/hualun
Summary: “I think I’m in love with you,” he remarks casually to his childhood friend over lunch, like how one would talk about the weather."Is that so."But he was okay with this. Everything was alright.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: This Flawed Little Universe of Ours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898725
Comments: 20
Kudos: 217
Collections: Recommended KuroKen Fics





	and then

**Author's Note:**

> nekoma spoilers for timeskip. vague references to the other work in this series (the conversation with a character not tagged is from there), but previous readthrough is not necessary.

Despite what everyone may think, Kuroo has never, ever told a lie.

(Aside from that one time about the setter being the position you least move around in, but that one never harmed anyone in the end, so he doesn’t count that.)

Sure, he might be known as a provocative, pain-in-the-ass, scheming, dirty capitalist, but he still never fabricated a truth to anybody. Maybe some stretching here and there, but nothing that was a complete and utter falsehood ever came out from his mouth.

So when he tells Akaashi, “He’s never been the type to really care about that kind of thing, and I don’t really care either, so that’s why I say we don’t really label what we have,” a weird, burning sensation wells up in his chest.

For a brief second, a cold mask slips onto his face in an attempt to cover up the feeling. He hopes the younger man’s eyes don’t catch it (they caught a lot of things, some that even Kuroo never caught).

When Akaashi leaves, he has a realization as he sips the last of his bitter coffee, the taste lingering on his tongue.

_Oh. So this is what it’s like to lie._

* * *

  
  
  


He also has two other realizations later—first, that the salt-and-pepper haired man wouldn’t be of much use in this situation (he was never really one for nuances or details), the blond is in Miyagi and would reply to his texts/calls a week later, the ex-Nekoma libero in Russia, even more out of reach.

(Second, who could actually hear him out is astonishingly little, but that’s beside the point.)

Which led to the third: he has to talk about it.

He has to talk about it, because he didn’t know what else to do. Otherwise it’d build up rot inside of him, eating him whole. Kuroo’s normally not one for talking about these things. But he doesn’t regard this situation as particularly _normal_ either.

“So, you turned to me in the end. I can’t really say I’ll be of much help though,” the tanned gardener says, sipping on his herbal tea. Something about soothing aromas and de-stressing. Kuroo’s not entirely sure what was stressful about plants. Maybe making sure the soil quality was adequate enough?

“I know that. But it’s just frustrating to me, y’know? I used to know how he was feeling just by looking at his face, but now he actually talks. And he’s slippery at that, too.” Kuroo leans against the kitchen counter, looking at the second hand pass by on the clock hanging on the wall (time passed by both too quickly and not fast enough, he finds himself thinking recently). “I can’t read his expressions as well anymore.”

“That does sound troublesome. I’m surprised you’re having problems with him though,” Kai replies, setting down his cup. “You’re the closest one to him after all.”

Kuroo huffs a small sigh. “But that was before he knew what he wanted to do. Now he’s got all of _that_ , and a load of money with it.”

 _He can live on his own without me_ , is what’s left unsaid.

Kai studies him curiously for a bit, but decides to not push anymore further. He’s always been like that—as everybody grew up and changed, the ex-vice captain remained a calm, steady presence, knowing where personal boundaries laid and never stepped over them, unlike a certain owlish man. It came as a bit of a surprise when Kai first announced he’d start cultivating a green thumb for his future, but that wore off once the team realized it fit him well. Too well, almost.

(“Are you sure you’re not the Buddha?” Yamatora had asked one time, when the team was heading home from practice.

“I am pretty positive I’m not,” Kai answered with a light chuckle. “I’m not that wise nor enlightened.”

“But that sounded like a pretty wise answer,” Kuroo interjected. “You know how they say wise people never actually admit their wisdom or something?”

“I just believe things will work out some way or another as long as you’re alive, that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s definitely something said by Buddha, I’m telling you!”)

“One way or another, I’m sure things will work out. Time solves most things, after all,” Kai responds gently with a small smile. The repetition startles Kuroo for a brief moment, stirring his high school memories, now just scattered scenes from long ago. Some people never change, it seems.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kuroo runs his fingers through his hair. _Not like I have much else to work with, anyways._ “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll come visit your shop soon, yeah?”

He says it mostly just out of courtesy—Kuroo’s never been that interested in taking care of plants. His apartment wasn’t much of a home but more of a place to sleep and eat, anyways. 

Kai picks this up, though makes a joke out of it. “Are you sure you won’t just neglect the plant after a week?”

“Hey, where’d that come from? I’ve taken care of a whole family of cats, a plant or two is way easier,” Kuroo retorts.

“Right, right. I’ll be looking forward to your visit then.” Kai smiles warmly as he stands up from his seat. “Later, then.”

* * *

Kuroo, for the most part of his life, doesn’t remember a time without him.

It was always _them together_ back when they were neighbors, it was always _them forever_ back when everything was much simpler. He’s not sure when or how he realized what he was feeling. He’s not even sure what he’s feeling. At some point, it just made sense to feel this way. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but one that popped into his head, a cloud drifting by on a summer’s day.

And like the suave man he was, he blurted it out right then and there without another thought.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he remarks casually to his childhood friend over lunch, like how one would talk about the weather.

 _I’ve really up and said it now, huh?_ Kuroo expected some shift in the universe after his declaration, some sort of development or confession that would blossom forth from the man’s lips, but instead—

“Is that so,” Kenma replies in his usual nonchalant tone, after slurping on his ramen, and Kuroo noticed his facial expression hadn’t changed. Or maybe it did and he didn’t notice.

Was it because he added in the small verb? Did it make that much of a difference?

“What, is that all you’re going to say?” he teases with a smirk. “I’ve spilled you my greatest secret, and that’s all I get? I have women swooning for these looks, you know.”

“I think they’re more attracted to Lev now, since he’s a model and all.” The long-haired man picks up a slice of meat and takes a small bite from it, clearly unaffected by Kuroo’s words.

“What? He’s got nothing over me,” Kuroo furrows his brow. “Or maybe it’s because you like him—”

“No, definitely not,” Kenma lets out an imperceptible sigh, stopping the train of speculation. A blond-tipped lock of hair sways delicately at the side of his face. “I’ve had enough dealing with him in high school.” 

“Hmm.” He leans his head on his hand, observing Kenma’s expression. Blank as always. “Then Shrimpy? There’s really nothing going on between you two? You really aren’t his sugar daddy or anything?”

Kuroo knew that Hinata and Kenma were close, a different kind of close than he was with Kenma. He had brushed it off in the past, but as time went on, Kenma never smiled like he did at Hinata at anybody else. Did he possibly develop feelings for that orange-haired wild child, but hadn’t realized it yet?

“Why are you asking about me and Shoyo,” Kenma rolls his eyes, phrasing the question more like a retort, and Kuroo wonders if he’s ever been that expressive before. “We really don’t have anything going on.”

(Kuroo was honestly shocked when Kenma told him that he was going to sponsor the energetic orange ball in Brazil. Once Kenma graduated from high school, kodzuken was a national phenomenon. The shy gamer found himself with a house (even if it was old), a booming channel, in college, the start of a company, and trading stocks.

So many things that he was interested in doing. So many things that Kuroo never helped foster an interest in, like he did when they were younger and had the whole world with an eternity to explore.

“You did what now?” he asked incredulously. He heard the first time what the man said, but it still hadn’t registered in his brain.

“Like I said, I’ve got a lot of money sitting around, so I’m sponsoring Shoyo’s trip to Brazil,” Kenma repeated. A rare smile forms on his face. “I said I’d drop him if he gets boring though.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. Kenma might’ve said that, but the two of them both knew Shrimpy would never, ever be a boring person. The ball of sunshine and happiness always managed to come up with ways to surprise the world.)

“I’m trying to figure out why you won’t say anything back to my confession.”

The man finally meets Kuroo’s dark eyes with his golden ones. What was swirling around in their depths? He can’t tell, unlike another golden-eyed man who wore his heart on his cheek.

“I’ve already said something in response,” Kenma points out with a steady tone.

_Is he trying to evade me here?_

“I want your feelings on the matter,” Kuroo presses on, leaning ever-so-slightly forward over the kotatsu. “What do you want to do?”

(At eight when they first met, and now at twenty, he’s asked the same thing, he notices.)

There’s a long moment of silence that hangs between the two, the only movement is the tips of Kenma’s chopsticks tapping on his lips.

“I don’t really like labeling things. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m not interested in you, but labels just feel annoying,” Kenma finally admits and resumes his ramen slurping. “If we’re going to be something, I don’t want to label it.”

Kuroo’s eyes could only widen in bewilderment at this statement. That was a confession, right? Even if it was nestled in between three other statements, an extremely thin vein of gold in a lump of rock, his childhood friend wasn’t completely shutting him out. Were they on the same page?

Could he take this?

(He could, because it was better than nothing.)

“So we’re just going to continue like normal, is what you’re getting at here,” the bedhead concludes. “Nothing’s changed, except for the fact that you know I love you now.”

“Pretty much,” Kenma shrugs, finishing the last of his noodles. Time was up. “I’ve got a stream scheduled later today, don’t stay long.”

“What, kicking me out already? I’d thought you’d treat me better than this,” he jokes half-heartedly.

“I haven’t directly said I’d kick you out.” Kenma takes the two empty bowls and walks over to the kitchen.

“It still has that connotation!”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

A couple seconds later:

“It doesn’t,” Kenma calls out, the sound of running water in the background.

“It does.”

Kuroo leaves the man’s house, the fire in his heart now trails of smoke dispersing into nothingness.

* * *

He never brought up the word _love_ again, but he showed it through tiny actions—a peck on the cheek, a brush of the hand, and Kenma usually responded in similar—a head lean on the shoulder, a face buried in a chest.

Because this was their normal, pre-Kuroo’s confession-not-really-confession. As time went on, he’s not sure what sort of lines defined friendship and romance. As time went on, he’s not sure if those lines exist. As time went on, there was no point in thinking about such things, because they just _were._

But he was okay with this. Everything was alright. He repeated these words over and over again in his head, whenever they were together. But he was okay with this. Everything was alright. Those moments together were rare now, so Kuroo takes whatever opportunity he can get. But he was okay with this. Everything was alright.

One night, Kenma makes a surprise visit to his apartment that changes this line of thought.

“I can’t sleep,” is what he says when Kuroo opens his door at a time unknown at night, standing in the doorway like some elusive fairy.

“Just put on some music or something,” Kuroo replies, still in a bit of a daze after being woken up.

“I can’t sleep,” Kenma repeats insistently.

Gold eyes meet black ones underneath a warm light casted from the floor lamp.

Then Kuroo gets it.

 _Oh, he wants to stay over._

He opens his door wider and lets Kenma in, who heads straight to Kuroo’s bedroom without another word and flops onto the bed, Kuroo trailing right behind.

“Wow, just like that? We’re not even gonna have some pillow talk?” Kuroo smirks as he sits on the edge of the bed. It was big enough for the two of them, he notices. “Are you really kicking me off my own bed?”

There’s a moment of silence before the figure facing the wall responds with, “It’s too cold in my house.”

“What, don’t tell me Japan’s most famous gamer can’t buy a functioning heater for his home with all of his money.”

There’s another moment of silence stretched out for so long, Kuroo thinks maybe that was actually the case, that the man in front of him really did forget to buy a heater, he was never good at taking care of himself, and Kuroo is about to laugh—

“I never said I’d kick you off,” comes the quiet response, shattering the silence. “Do you have another pillow?” A yawn. “Don’t you sleep with two?”

Kuroo blinks. “On my lap is one—”

“How is that even going to work,” Kenma deadpans, unmoving from his position.

“A man can dream, alright? And no I don’t,” he retorts, slowly sliding back onto his bed, cautiously, as if the figure in front of him would scamper off at any sudden movement. “Also, get off the blanket for a sec. It’s getting cold at night.”

Kenma doesn’t make a sound as he curls up into a ball, his small body now not weighing down the blanket. Kuroo lifts it up and covers both of them. He’s only centimeters away from Kenma’s hair, now past his shoulders, once the two of them are both settled in. Had it always been that long?

“You can come closer,” is muttered out.

Kuroo almost doesn’t catch it. “What’s that you say?”

“You heard me the first time. Good night.”

The distance closed between the two—ten centimeters, then five, then two—until the number lowered to zero in a flash. Kuroo’s large arms wrapped around Kenma’s waist, his long legs entangling with a pair of short ones, his hands intertwining with a pair of small ones. He rests his head on Kenma’s shoulder, and feels the man beneath him relax, melting into his own body. For someone with his small stature, Kenma emitted a lot of warmth, a warmth Kuroo’s never experienced before.

He falls asleep, his final thought a reminder to buy a pillow tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, he finds himself on his bed, alone. He rubs his eyes with his hand. Blinks once, twice. Pinches himself on the elbow (it hurt).

Kenma left behind a small space next to him, a human-shaped space that couldn’t be filled by just anybody.

Was last night just a dream, something Kuroo’s subconscious formed out of pity?

He stretches his arms outwards, almost hitting the back wall in the process, lets out a large yawn, and rubs his eyes. With a slight feeling of disappointment swirling in his chest, he walks to his bathroom, brushes his teeth (looking even more dead-eyed than normal this morning), and shaves (though there’s not much difference before and after, or maybe he was still too sleepy to notice). Kuroo half expects Kenma to be in the kitchenette, but he sees no sign of him there.

Taped onto the table, however, is a plain sticky note. Kuroo picks it up, and reads it.

 _I took an apple. Thanks,_ is scrawled out on it hastily, but Kuroo could recognize the handwriting anywhere.

And then, Kuroo realizes: _Oh. I’m in love with him._

He wasn’t okay with this. Everything wasn’t alright.

* * *

After that incident, Kuroo lost the ability to read Kenma’s facial expressions. He’s not sure how it happened, really. One day, he simply couldn’t read what his childhood friend was thinking anymore.

Despite Kuroo’s feelings, things still didn’t change after a year. Everything still proceeded as normal, asides from Kenma’s sporadic visits late at night once every blue moon. They started and ended in the same manner as the first one—Kuroo could somehow never wake up before Kenma did.

It’s not like he’s completely alien to the idea of romance—there were some crushes in middle school, a kiss shared here and there. But he could move on from those in the end; they were casual moments, two satellites that had briefly touched each other in the depths of space, then continuing on their orbits, never to meet again.

 _Love,_ however, was a completely different matter. There was no rationale or logic behind it. No matter how much he learned about the chemical reactions (an explosion of dopamine and oxytocin) that produced such an emotion, he still couldn’t understand it. Maybe he never truly will, but at the same time, how else was he supposed to describe it all?

So when he told Akaashi he doesn’t really care much for labels, he almost wanted to laugh at himself. He didn’t care much for labels, because he’s not sure what Kenma actually thought of him. The owl man might’ve thought the two were dating, and to a stranger, they might seem like a nice couple, but that was only because of Kuroo’s continued insistence—more pecks on the cheek, an arm close around the man’s shoulders. Constantly taking and taking.

Kenma only continued to grow in popularity as the years passed by, now becoming an international phenomenon, a bright, shining star in his own, quiet way. Kuroo could only bear witness, but _goddamn_ was he going to try and orbit the star as much as he could, even if he was going to suffocate in the deep, dark outer space because of it.

Perhaps it was the effects of love. Or maybe it was because he just wanted to _know_ again what Kenma was thinking, because even if he knew Kenma didn’t love him back, it was better than not knowing. Or perhaps he was just going crazy. Maybe Kenma didn’t know either.

That was when Kuroo thought, _he can live on his own without me,_ during his talk with the gardener.

And after Kai had left: _I can’t without him._

While such melodramatic thoughts usually didn’t enter Kuroo’s mind (that was more Bokuto’s style), he couldn’t help it. That was what love did to him, did to everybody.

It was clear as day on Akaashi’s face that he was in love when the intern editor paid him an unannounced visit. Kuroo had laughed so loud at the absurdity of it all—at Akaashi’s obliviousness, and of course, at himself, for being in the exact same boat. Was it that obvious on his face too?

Kuroo Tetsurou had fallen in love—deeply, madly in love—with somebody who didn’t love him back.

* * *

If somebody asked Kuroo when it all started, he’s not sure how to answer.

When Kuroo was eight, he moved next door to Kenma with his father and grandparents. Brand new city, brand new life, and he didn’t know a single person in their neighborhood. Kuroo met the quiet boy (which wasn’t saying much, considering how he barely ever spoke) when his grandparents brought a housewarming gift to them, which Kenma’s parents graciously accepted. Perhaps out of politeness, they invited Kuroo to come over whenever he wanted to. _Kindred spirits,_ they had said, ruffling Kenma’s hair. _They’ll get along with each other just fine._

At eight, he’s not sure what constituted as _fine,_ because their _fine_ was just playing Kenma’s latest video game after school in silence. Maybe that’s when it all started. And he didn’t mind back then; he wasn’t even sure of how to strike up a conversation, so it was enough. The sounds of button-mashing and the shouts from the screen replaced their words and filled the silence (though on more occasions than he can count, Kenma always emerged victorious).

Until one day, as Kuroo sees the word “DEFEAT” plastered on his side of the screen once again, Kenma puts down the controller.

“Do you want to play something else?”

“Er… have you heard of volleyball?”

Perhaps it started at that moment: when whatever their _fine_ was shifted meaning: now the _fine_ meant Kuroo showing Kenma how to play the sport next to the riverbank, inviting Kenma to the volleyball training camp because he didn’t want to go alone, meeting the old man Nekomata. At twelve, he opened up and made new friends, but still went over to Kenma’s to watch pro games. And that created a new definition of _fine_ for the two.

And Kuroo saw it in Kenma’s eyes then: the fire that wanted to learn more and study more, the one that signalled he’d give it his all for the sport just like he did with a newly-released game. So Kuroo assures Kenma’s father he’d invite Kenma to soccer if he ever showed an interest in the sport, because he knew Kenma would give it his all if he did.

At seventeen, their _fine_ became _friends forever,_ because if it had lasted up until now, it would continue to do so in the future. Things just made sense like that to him.

“Go to sleep,” Kenma had said, when the moon hung high in the sky outside his window.

A beat later: “What else did you expect?” is tacked on quietly, softly.

Perhaps it was finally then, after nine years of growing pains, that everything all started. Life was made up of so many of these _perhaps_ and _maybes,_ and life never provided a definite answer to any of it.

Twenty-one now, he wonders if he had pushed their _fine_ too much.

* * *

Once, Yaku had called him at a godawful early time during the morning, most likely forgetting about the time zone difference again. It had been Kuroo’s highly-coveted weekend, too.

(Deep down, he doesn’t mind; their friendship (if one could call it that) only ever existed in brief phone calls during too-early hours for Kuroo, and it was simple to keep it like that.)

“Hey. How’s it going?” Yaku greets him with the usual chirpiness.

“Yakkun you bastard, it’s fucking six here,” Kuroo groans with gravel in his voice, massaging his forehead. “What do you want?”

“What, am I not allowed to call you once in a while? Oh, if you’re wondering, my team’s doing pretty good this season,” he continues, as if nothing was wrong.

“I wasn’t wondering about your damned cheeseburger eclair team.” Kuroo rolled to the side of his bed, Kenma-free, his head on the man’s pillow. Yaku’s voice was just a bit too bright for him to listen to.

“It’s Cheegle Ekaterina! Where did cheeseburger eclair even come from?” the libero exclaims. “Well, whatever. How’s everybody doing?”

“Just fine. Kenma’s grown out his hair, Yamamoto dyed his mohawk back, Fukunaga learned how to make paella, and Kai’s still doing his gardening,” Kuroo rattles off, now slightly more awake. “Oh, Lev got a pretty big modelling job recently. When you come back, you should see the poster. It’s plastered right big in Shibuya.”

“Hmm—” A brief pause. “I’m not sure if I can come back this year, we’ll see. But how long is Kenma’s hair now?”

It takes a nanosecond to conjure up the image in his mind despite its fogginess. “Probably just around mid-back now?” Kenma’s hair was usually tied in a bun, but when he crashed at Kuroo’s pace, his hair was always down.

“That long now? Is he trying to impress someone?”

“Not that I know of.” Kuroo lets out a large yawn.

It hits him, two seconds later.

“I hope that was a joke, because you’d really be the world’s biggest idiot if it wasn’t,” Yaku declares. He could imagine the short man’s irritated face, staring up at him.

Kuroo takes some time to sit up on his bed. It had been far too long ago when he and Yaku butted heads, but he still remembered their differences.

Most notably, Kuroo preferred long hair, and Yaku short hair.

But there was no way Kenma grew out his hair just for him. He was probably just growing out of the blond hair, getting it trimmed whenever he felt like it.

“It’s unrequited,” he blurts out, the second time without thinking. Really, he should stop doing that. It only ends in a confusing mess.

“And you know, how?” The mother cat is quick to catch on. Leave it to Yaku to pick up on these things without even asking for context.

Kuroo stares at the window on the opposite wall, covered by the curtains. Between the gaps are beams of orange light slowly rising. He’s never really liked his apartment—the high costs, how his unit unfortunately faced the sunrise, how his head was centimeters away from brushing the ceiling.

“I don’t,” he rasps, clutching the phone just a bit closer to his ear. “Don’t know if I ever will.”

Maybe Kenma meant “interested” as “just a passing fancy” rather than the “love” that Kuroo harbored. And even then, he’s not sure of that word’s meaning when he blurted it out those years ago. Perhaps he said the word all too quickly, two years fresh out of high school, when he still didn’t know what it meant.

And still doesn’t.

He does know that whatever he felt, Kenma didn’t—he’s not even sure if the man even liked him. What the hell does somebody mean when they’re interested, anyways? It felt like too much to figure out.

(When did childhood friends become so complicated?)

“Then you really are the world’s biggest idiot,” Yaku announces with a pronounced sigh. “Wow, now I’m sad. Real sad.” In the background, a busy street hums. “Have you even done anything with him? Have you even _tried_?”

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing?” he asks, irritated. “It’s been too many years to count now, and I don’t even know what’s different. Hell, I don’t even know what he’s feeling, but it sure as hell isn’t what I’m going through.” The flow of words from his mouth can’t be stopped, maybe because of how early it was. He’s not even sure what he’s saying anymore.

“Look here, I’m in fucking _love_ —you know how much I hated seeing that snake bastard with his girlfriend, and now I’m going through the same goddamn _thing_ —”

“Then don’t go deciding things like it being unrequited or whatever bullshit you were spouting, if you don’t know what he’s feeling. You really piss me off.” Yaku sneers, immediately cutting him off. “It’s like you’re chasing your own tail right now, with how much running in circles you’re doing. I don’t remember the Nekoma captain being like this.”

“If you’re trying to say something, just say it straight to me, for fuck’s sake.” Kuroo bites his tongue. The orange beams are rising even higher. He hopes he can fall back asleep and forget about this call.

“I’m saying you’re honestly too goddamn _dense_ and _stupid._ Actually, scratch that, the both of you are. You say you’ve tried, but have you actually had a proper conversation with him recently, or are you just too scared to know what he thinks?” Yaku pauses for a bit to catch a breath.

“Because I can promise you, it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining. The whole team knew that, watching the two of you every day. Get a damn grip already, or I’ll punch you a new one when I come back.” There’s a muffled shout of Yaku’s name in the background. “Alright, gotta go now. Take care.”

Just like that, the line goes dead before Kuroo could say a word in return. The time on his phone now reads 6:32 AM.

He lets out a deep sigh. There’s no way he can fall back asleep now.

* * *

Winter meant an increased workload for the volleyball promoter as that’s when the V. League season is in full swing. He goes around visiting and selecting venues for where games would be held, accompanying his boss during dinner parties, creating promotional videos for said games, going to Bokuto’s aftergame parties, handling other publicity and advertising-related affairs—the list goes on.

He’s not sure how it started, but whenever he had a lot of work to do, he ate less. Kuroo knows the importance of eating proper meals on the regular, but it sometimes slipped out of his mind whenever he got caught up in an assignment.

So maybe that meant his fridge became filled with less produce and more cans of beer or takeout boxes, but he couldn’t help it. First, he was promoting the very sport he loved, so he made sure all of his time and energy went to it. Second, he was earning a lot of money with his latest promotion. It was a win-win situation, really.

(Third: it lets him focus on something other than the whole _feelings_ business.)

But one morning, he’s greeted with a box covered with a piece of dark green fabric, tied with a lopsided tie, sitting inconspicuously on his dining room table.

 _Eat this,_ is scrawled on the yellow sticky note taped on top.

He reads it once. Twice. Eyes scanning every line and curve.

Since when did Kenma know about his eating habits?

(When he opens the lunchbox at his desk, he’s greeted with four onigiri, oddly shaped and messily made. They didn’t even look like triangles, more akin to an abstract art piece. Still, he takes a bite.

It was a tad salty. _What did Kenma even put in them?_

But still, it tasted good, and it was the first filling lunch Kuroo’s had in a long while.

The pounding of his heart against his ribcage swells, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from laughing in the middle of his office.)

* * *

Kuroo finally decides to do something about it, as per Yaku’s suggestion.

“Hey. You interested in helping me work on a promotional video?” Kuroo asks the younger man on his bed. Winters, to his delight, meant Kenma visited more often, and he now seriously thinks Kenma didn’t have a functioning heater for his house.

“Hmm. Why not. Just tell me the details,” Kenma responds, still not turning to face the man.

“Wow, an immediate acceptance? I’m a lucky man~ What about your schedule? Aren’t you busy?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll make time for it,” he insists.

“Then turn around so I can see your face.”

Kenma obliges and his beady golden eyes stare straight in Kuroo’s dark ones, and even if he can’t read the man anymore, Kuroo swears he sees a glimmer of affection in those golden pools, swirling in the depths.

“Is this good enough?” Kenma asks, betraying no sign of emotion.

“Alright, you pass,” Kuroo chuckles, and ruffles his head. “I appreciate it.”

They fall asleep facing each other that night.

* * *

For some reason, Kuroo doesn’t sleep as deeply as usual. Come morning, he feels Kenma stir in his chest.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs into the man’s ear, still half asleep, burying his face even deeper into the long locks.

“I have class, Kuro,” is the tired response.

“Five more minutes. That’s all. I want to sleep some more,” he breathes out. Maybe he was being selfish, but the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to deny him this moment of serendipity, would it?

And for some reason, Kenma stays. Without another word, the only movement he makes is burying his head further into Kuroo’s chest.

Kuroo thinks about _love,_ about _unrequited love._ Wanders back to what Yaku had told him that morning, then pushes forward to the _now_ where Kenma’s next to him, sleeping soundly.

Maybe he was just thinking too much about it.

He closes his eyes, landing a soft butterfly kiss on the man’s head before he falls asleep too.

* * *

(Here’s a scene from their childhood:

Kuroo calls out Kenma’s name some time too late at night through the window of his room half out of boredom, half out of curiosity. To his pleasant surprise, it’s rewarded by Kenma’s mop of hair coming into view, then his hands, then his face. 

“What,” Kenma had said, his signature apathetic look on his face.

“I can’t sleep,” Kuroo remembers replying, head leaning on the window sill. He’s just elated that Kenma actually responded.

“How am I supposed to help.”

“Uh… dunno,” Kuroo had grinned sheepishly. There’s a place in his mouth that lingered with the phantom pain of a tooth. “If you ever find a way, can you tell me?”

Kenma groaned in response. “Just go lay on your bed and stay still. Don’t mess up mine. That all?”

“This is pretty cool.”

“What is?”

“Well... you know,” Kuroo said, scratching his head. “It’s kind of like we’re together, even if we’re in separate houses.” He motioned to the two windows, just an arm’s length and some more apart. “Feels like we won’t be away from each other.”

“Of course. That’s natural.”

Kenma gave him a soft smile. Despite being under the cold light of the moon, it’s bright and warm in a way Kuroo doesn’t have the words to describe, but it’s a smile that makes him briefly entertain the idea of eternity with.)

* * *

It should’ve been easier after that, but things in life never happened easily.

“Hey. Let’s talk business for the promotional video,” Kuroo says one day in front of Kenma's door. “Also got us some lunch.” He holds up the plastic bag in his left hand.

“Alright,” replies Kenma, opening his door wider for Kuroo to come inside. He takes off his shoes, slips on his faded black slippers he’s somehow laid claim to, and they walk over to the kotatsu in the living room.

They talk over burgers, sodas, and slices of apple pies, Kuroo keeping it strictly-business related. He’s not even sure what the words coming out of his mouth are, because all he could focus on was the way Kenma’s ears peeked out from his hair, the way his hands cupped the styrofoam cup. At some point, Kenma brought over a basket of tangerines after their lunches were finished and the conversation lulled. 

And Kuroo thinks, _if not now, then when?_

“Say… what are we, exactly?” he begins, peeling a tangerine, his heart about to burst out of his chest.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t come over anymore at night.”

“Do I have to? It’s been getting warmer recently, so sleeping here isn’t that bad anymore.” Kenma takes a tangerine from the basket.

Kuroo’s fingers hover over the first slice. “You really just came over because it was cold?” A sense of dread starts gnawing in his stomach, eating away what he had for lunch.

“In a way,” he confesses. Golden eyes look askance and Kenma sets down his tangerine. “This house gets too big for me sometimes. I think.”

And then Kuroo thinks, he was right _all along,_ he had just been imagining things _all this time_ , there was never _anything between them—_

”And—I guess I was just feeling... kind of lonely here,” Kenma adds on, softly.

Kuroo’s head snaps up at this, at first not registering what was said. Blinks once, twice, at the words.

“So why’d you leave?” he croaks, and he’s surprised at how fragile it comes out.

“Because I didn’t want to be a bother to you,” Kenma begins, adjusting his legs underneath the kotatsu. “But then the feeling happened again and again, and I found myself wanting to spend more time at your apartment, because I—I liked it a lot.”

Kuroo’s now noticing how small the man in front really was, with his hunched back and small frame that looked like it could get knocked down any second.

“But you didn’t want to be a bother,” Kuroo echoes hollowly. “So you always left before I woke up. Look, I appreciated the breakfast and all, but it would’ve been nice if you stayed for some time.” He closes his eyes. Opens them, to meet Kenma’s.

“You’re not—you wouldn’t _ever_ —be a bother to me, y’know,” and it’s said so quietly that Kuroo’s not even sure if the words came out from his mouth, but Kenma’s piercing golden eyes are waiting for him to continue.

“I was afraid that you just wanted to comfort me in some way, because you didn’t love me back, because I thought I was just imagining things between us,” The words are now coming out faster than his brain could process them, running on steam.

“Because I can’t tell what you’re feeling anymore and all, and I know you’re bad with talking, but sometimes it’s just— _nice_ to hear the words.” Kuroo’s honestly not sure who he's trying to talk to anymore. 

“I know I was unfair with what I told you that day. You’re not that good with the whole sporadic stuff, you’ve always been like that. But it’s been three years since then, so it would’ve been nice to at least hear some sort of affirmation from you. Or hell, even a rejection. Anything, _anything_ would’ve been fine. Anything but nothing.”

“If you knew, then why’d you say it? Out of the blue. You added a ‘think’ too,” Kenma points out.

 _Why_ did he say it?

Was there ever a simple reason for _why_?

“I just thought it was right,” he rasps, and he can’t come up with anything better. “But I didn’t want to come off too intense. Not really confident and”—he shrugs—“was that word really enough to throw things off?”

He still doesn’t know the answer, really. But he’s never missed someone so strongly when he was riding the bus to work, when he was shopping for groceries, even when they were sending each other the random moments of their days. And when Kenma came over, all of the built-up worries and doubts dissipated in the wind without any resistance, even if he just stayed over for the night.

If that wasn’t love, he doesn’t know what else it would be. That was the answer he reached, despite how lousy and dull it sounded, but then again, did a word like _love_ need anything grand?

“You say you can’t read my face anymore, but yours isn’t that easy to read either. You always have this smirk on your face, like you don’t really mean it,” Kenma finally speaks. “As you’ve said already, I’m not really good at the whole feelings business.” He closes his eyes briefly, and lets out a ragged exhale.

“But hearing you say those words that day surprised me in a way I didn’t know, and still don’t know how to describe. So I didn’t know how to respond to you back then. I was glad you felt the same—but I didn’t know exactly, if we were on the same page or not.” Kenma’s hands finish peeling the tangerine, and he drops the peel onto the table.

“As time went on, I just thought you were just fine with whatever we were. So I didn’t say anything. If you were fine with it, I’d be fine too.” Kenma’s gaze drops to the side.

At first, Kuroo’s shocked at how much Kenma had said. He stares straight into those golden eyes, lit up by the sunlight shining from the window. Now that Kenma’s hair was out of his face, Kuroo could see them even more clearly.

Then Kuroo lets out a laugh—the loud, ugly laugh—this time at how things were finally starting to make sense again, in its weird, convoluted way, at how a misunderstanding blossomed into something bigger than the two ever were, and how the both of them really were just terrible, absolutely _horrible_ at words. The whole thing really was stupid like Yaku had said.

Truthfully, he didn’t need to read Kenma, he knew enough about him to just _know._ At eight, and now at twenty-one. Things really weren’t all that different then and now. As time went on, there was no point in thinking about the lines, because they just _were._ Their love may shift and waver, may be questioned and buried in manners uncontrollable, but it was _there,_ it was for them.

“We both didn’t do this thing right, did we? Skipped a lot of steps coming into this,” he finally says after a long sigh, popping another slice of the fruit into his mouth. The citrusy taste doesn’t bother him much anymore.

“And who’s fault was that?” Kenma eats his first slice of the tangerine, his eyes still trained on Kuroo.

“Definitely was yours,” he replies, tongue in cheek with a slight grin.

He’s not sure who started it, but they lean closer to each other over the kotatsu. 

“It wasn’t.”

Gold meets black.

“It was.”

Ten, then five, then two centimeters.

“It wasn’t.”

Closer, closer.

“It was.”

Their lips meet for the first time and everything fits with a _click_ in Kuroo’s brain.

“Let’s compromise then. Both our faults,” he says while pulling away for a breath.

The corners of Kenma’s lips finally turn upwards at him, and Kuroo wants to keep this in his memory forever. “If you say so,” he murmurs.

Kuroo smiles back, a genuine, real one.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he breathes out.

Their lips meet again, the taste of citrus washing away his doubts and worries without another word.

* * *

A couple weeks later, and things still haven’t changed much.

“Your home is honestly depressingly empty,” Kuroo comments, sprawled on the soft carpet of the gaming room while Kenma’s working away on his computer. His fingers play with the fuzz. “Can you even consider this a home? You don’t even have a sofa, painting, or a plant. At least get a plant or something.”

“Why do you care so much about what my home is like? You don’t even live here,” Kenma replies, furiously typing on the keys.

“Let me live here then,” he blurts out without thinking (for the third time now), looking at the white ceiling above.

The typing stops.

“Er—well, if you’re not really comfortable with that, that’s OK too, but my apartment’s really small you know, so it might be easier if I stayed here instead,” he stammers, desperately trying to fill up the silence.

“I don’t mind,” comes the response, and the typing resumes. “Bound to happen sooner or later, I guess.”

“You don’t mind? I’m starting to think this _relationship_ ”—he tries his best to gracefully skate over the word, as it still sounds weird on his tongue—”is just a lot of ambivalence,” he teases.

Instead of a retort back, he’s greeted with a soft sigh.

“I want you to stay here,” is mumbled out.

“What? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I want you to stay here,” Kenma says louder, firmer, each syllable resonating deep with Kuroo’s heart.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, tilting his face to look at Kenma’s profile view. “Just like that?”

“In what other way would you want it? I’ve got more than enough space here for the both of us,” and the typing resumes again.

Maybe stars weren’t so hard to reach, he thinks. At times it would be too bright. At times he wouldn’t be able to see it at all.

“Your cooking sucks anyways. I can teach you how to make something not looking like something out of a rejected modern art piece,” Kuroo smirks.

Even so, he’s glad to be in Kenma’s orbit.

“But you still ate it.” A sip of water.

“Of course I did. I’m not gonna turn down free food from you.” He closes his eyes and places his hands behind his neck with a small smile on his face. The quiet continues, and Kuroo listens to the song of Kenma’s star humming a soft tune that only he could hear.

And then, Kuroo thinks maybe he would be okay with this.

Maybe, everything would be alright.

* * *

(“What’s up! Betcha thought I wouldn’t visit!” Kuroo calls out with a wave to the gardener in front of his shop, currently tending to the colorful flowers on display.

The man turns to look at him, and holds up a gloved hand. “Oh, Kuroo! You really did come, huh? Welcome! Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“You got any good houseplants? Preferably something easy to grow, I guess.”

Kai beckons him into the shop. Inside, plants of all sorts of varieties in all sorts of pots line the shelves and hang gracefully from the walls. A light fragrance drifts in the air, but it’s not terribly overbearing. Kuroo has to brush away long tendrils of leaves to see where he’s walking.

“If you want houseplants, then I suppose this spider plant might be good for you since you’re in an apartment,” Kai says, holding up a pot with long, thin leaves sprouting from it.

“Oh, uh, this isn’t for me,” he stammers, with a hand placed behind his neck. Kai’s dark eyes briefly widen, then he smiles and turns back to the multitude of plants displayed.

“Then, how about some forget-me-nots? It’ll be a nice touch of color for that old house,” he suggests, holding up a clay pot with the small, blue flowers.

Kuroo takes the pot in his hands, staring at the blooms. It fit perfectly into his hands, he notices. “I thought you were going to suggest roses,” he says.

“You don’t really seem like a rose type of guy to me. Besides, these are easier for you to begin with.”

“If you say so, you’re the expert. I’ll take ‘em then,” Kuroo announces, heading towards the white counter with a register on top.

Kai follows him, going behind the counter. “I’m glad things worked out between the two of you, really.”

“Well, it’s like you said—things will work out, one way or another,” he replies, pulling out his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“That’s true. But it’s still good to hear, I was worried my talk with Kenma wouldn’t go well,” Kai beams.

Kuroo freezes in place, wallet half opened. “What’d you just say?”

The man in front of him doesn’t change his look. “Hm? Did I say something?” His hands take the scanner to the label of the pot, but for some reason it doesn’t beep. “Oh, it seems like this scanner isn’t working today. That’s too bad, I can’t scan this.” He furrows his brow in mock-thought.

“Well, that plant’s on the house for you today!” Kai declares, handing him the pot of flowers.

Kuroo’s mouth gapes wide open in confusion, opening and closing, trying to figure out what words to say, looking first at the pot thrusted in his hands, then to Kai. “What even are you—”

“Thanks for stopping by. Have a nice day!” Kai gives him a friendly wave, and another customer steps into the shop. “Oh, welcome! How can I help you today?” the gardener gives a small bow, effectively giving Kuroo’s dismissal. 

He has no choice but to walk outside, the sun’s brightness greeting him once again.

Maybe some people did change, even just a bit.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
